


when we were orphans

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Future Fic, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Phil Coulson, but indulge me i just love this set up, food is very important for this ship okay, i realize this is basically the new orleans fic without the plot and the anger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 23:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3915400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson understood why Skye had to walk away. But now he's only thinking of ways to make her come back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when we were orphans

**1\. the night**

When he tries to comfort Skye he can smell blood on his own clothes and he winces. Cal's blood? His own? Skye's? Coulson can't tell. Skye – she smells of ashes, of centuries-old wood burnt down to cinders. She doesn't hug him back for a while. There's blood in her hands. He knows perfectly who that belongs to.

Coulson stays with her all night, both of them broken and both of them murderers, while she cries in absolute silence and doesn't talk much.

One thing she says though, one that will stick with him forever – 

"I guess I'm an orphan _again_ now," she says, between cruelty and amusement.

Coulson doesn't know it's the last time they'll speak in a long time.

 

 

**2\. transient**

Almost four months later he catches up with her in Macau.

In a humble internet cafe tucked between luxury hotels.

Skye looks like she has never done anything else in her life, this in-between life, in casual jeans and a loose green shirt, typing away with her usual easiness – he remembers – and that little frown of concentration – he remembers that one well – until she looks up from her seat and at the suited guy in front of her.

She gives him a half-smile, but no indication that such a long time has passed for her. He begins to doubt if she really wanted him to come, after all, or he just imagined it.

Coulson holds on to the half-smile and lets her get used to his presence, lets her set the tone of the meeting.

"Just one moment," she tells him and Coulson stands awkwardly by her side while she finishes whatever legal or illegal business she's conducting.

Skye moves them to the bar zone and orders two glasses of milk tea. She orders in English and Coulson starts profiling – so she's not been here long enough to pick up any of the multiple languages of the city. 

They sit on the tall stools and Coulson tries not to look too much at her face, not too obviously at least. Has it only been a few months? She looks older than that – then again, she looked older that last night in base with him as well.

"How did you find me?" she asks, sipping on her drink. Sounding friendly, almost glad to see him.

"Someone like you, Skye... There's no way to do that, unless you want to be found."

Even so, it wasn't that easy, finding her. But Coulson knew that it would be an impossible task, if Skye had really wanted to remain hidden. Just as she had all these months, without a trace. He overworked Skye's former minions at the tech lab, not because he thought she was in some danger but because if Skye wanted him to find her he should be by her side as soon as possible.

"You sent that girl to us," he says.

"I sent her to _you_ ," Skye corrects him, like the dinstinction is important. And, after everything that's happened, maybe it is. "She had already gone through the Mist and she was struggling, getting in trouble. I just told her that she could trust someone named Phil Coulson at SHIELD."

"Even though SHIELD destroyed her home?"

"SHIELD destroyed my home as well," she points out. "And here I am."

He says nothing.

Here she is sitting with him.

Yes, she wanted them to find her.

Skye knew that she was giving SHIELD enough clues to find her, when she sent that girl to them.

"She's okay now?" she asks.

Coulson nods. "But you knew that. Been keeping tabs on us."

Skye presses her lips together in a shy smile. Coulson doesn't mind that she still kept an eye on their activities. That meant she still cared. It was a relief. But it was frustrating because they couldn't do the same, look out for her. She had them at a disadvantage.

They stay in silence, like they have run out of things to say already. Or like every possible subject is a landmine between them. Coulson has, perhaps, too many things to say and can't decide on just one. He fears whatever he chooses to say it will be the wrong thing.

She suddenly stands up and for a terrible moment Coulson is sure she is just going to walk away, leave him here. But she doesn't. She turns to him.

"Have you tried the egg tarts here?" she asks. "I think you would like them. Come on."

She picks up her things and Coulson follows her out of the door.

 

 

**3\. weather and luck**

Well, of course Coulson has heard of Pasteis de Nata, and the peculiar Chinese-Portuguese fusion of the Macanese cuisine, he's not a savage. And under different circumstances he'd be happy to do some tourism with Skye, wander all these European-named streets she is taking him through. But at this point he had imagined they'd be both on their way to the airport, that he would have convinced Skye to come back to SHIELD. The fact that she hasn't shown any inclination to do so makes Coulson nervous. Desperate, really. She looks way too calm.

"Why Macau?" he asks her outside the food stall.

"Why not? It's a good city to just disappear. Lots of people in transit. Easy to make a quick buck."

"You're not gambling, are you."

She smirks. Meaning she probably could be, if she wanted, and she'd be making decent money. Just one of those mystery skills Skye retains from her pre-SHIELD days. It doesn't surprise Coulson.

"No. I've gone back to the basics. Faking IDs for people," she says. Coulson gives her a look. "Not for criminals, don't worry. Just people with bad luck. Having bad luck in this city can be pretty tough."

"Why here, Skye?"

She licks her fingers before answering. There's not a hint of self-consciousness in the gesture, like Coulson isn't there.

"I wanted somewhere far. Somewhere as far away from everything as I could think of," she explains. "I've only been here for a couple of weeks. Before that I was in Hanoi, Buenos Aires, that was fun, Mexico. After the obligatory stop by Texas."

"Miles?" Coulson asks, gently.

She doesn't look away.

"I wanted someone who would be nice, but wouldn't know anything about what happened to me," Skye explains.

"You didn't tell him about your...?" he gestures at her body.

"No. He didn't suspect anything was different. And he didn't ask what was wrong."

Coulson is glad she at least had that, someone. That she wasn't alone all the time. He couldn't comfort her, he's relieved she got help somehow.

"Everybody okay back at SHIELD?" she asks.

If she is asking if anyone blames her for walking away she should know them well enough to realize they'd never do that. They all understood – even Coulson understood, even if he didn't want to accept the truth of it.

"Figuring things out," he replies. In fact everybody seems to be doing a lot better than him these days. He feels a bit betrayed by that. He feels they are betraying Skye by not falling apart like he did. "I've taken a backseat. Doing more field work, less telling people what to do."

Skye looks surprised. "Why?"

"I don't know what my place in SHIELD is anymore," he says, surprising himself. It's not something he had even admitted to himself yet. That he's lost. That he doesn't know what he's doing anymore. That he doesn't have the confidence in reconstruction Bobbi and May have. That despite all that he's been working harder than ever, the job bleeding easily into his nights, and he's still lost for it. Only when he has been helping Inhumans in trouble after the collapse of their society has Coulson felt useful, at peace.

He thinks about explaining this but he realizes it sounds like he is finding substitutes for Skye, using other gifteds to work through his grief. He's wondered about that himself. Just never out loud.

Skye just makes a thoughtful sound at the back of her throat. Not something she'd expect Coulson to say, of course, that he doesn't know where he belongs.

He knew that Skye had to walk away. He doesn't understand why he himself stayed. Maybe it was just in case she came back and helped him figure it out.

They are walking down the former red light district, old uneven pavement and tourists everywhere, when it starts to rain, suddenly and _heavily_. They barely have time to cover themselves by the hole in the wall selling jerky meats. The busy street empties out in a moment. He and Skye hope to wait it out.

"Well, weather here is famously unpredictable," Skye comments. She frowns. "Fitting, really."

It's useless, they're already drenched. Coulson looks down at his suit hopelessly.

"Where's your hotel?" Skye asks.

Coulson swallows. Hard.

She realizes, "You don't have a hotel."

"I didn't plan that far ahead," he admits. "After we located you I took the first flight here. I imagined..."

"You imagined what?" she urges.

"That I'd find you and we've both come back in the next plane," he says, pathetically truthful. He didn't want delays or more waiting. He didn't want more days of separation.

"You don't even know if I want to come back," she argues. And well, she's right. He couldn't even consider that possibility.

"No."

Skye stares him down with a neutral expression.

"Come with me," she says, gesturing down the road. "We should at least get you out of those wet clothes."

 

 

**4\. debris**

She is staying in a functional one-room flat at street level, well away of the glitz of the casinos and tourist spots, among two or three story houses, a flat with the mattress on the floor and Skye's few possessions neatly tucked in one corner of the room. Coulson knows how expensive this city is. He scans the room quickly as he takes off his drenched jacket and his wallet and leaves them on the small desk, not wanting to pry.

He's still restless, thinking about the idea of Skye not wanting to come back, of having to leave her here. He really came to her without a plan, without a reason why she should go back to a life that had brought her such intimate pain. What could he give her in return?

"Where did you find this place?" he asks, a bit insidiously.

"A friend of a friend. Of a friend. You know how I work."

"I do."

Skye offers him a pale pink t-shirt.

"I think this should fit you," she tells him. "I normally use it as pajama top, but it's clean. _Ish_."

She gives that last part an apologetic chuckle.

Coulson takes it.

She hesitates in letting go for a moment, holding his gaze.

"I haven't been able to use my powers since that day," she says, suddenly, very quietly. "I just can't. Every time I try to vibrate something, anything, I just see Jiaying's face when I..."

She trails off.

"Skye?"

She turns away.

"You can change in the bathroom," she tells him. "There are towels, too."

He obeys, because there's nothing he can do to help with that.

Coulson locks himself in the tiny bathroom, almost relieved to have a moment to gather himself, after what she just said.

Skye hadn't wanted her powers at first, but he suspects – though he never heard that from her mouth – that eventually changed. The control of her powers, though, was linked to her mother. Coulson is no shrink, but it doesn't take one to find her situation understandable.

He had been wrong. He had tried to factor in her powers when he was trying to find her, search for news of any strange occurrences – he knew Skye must be helping people out there, somehow, she's not one to just lick her wounds and forget about the rest of the world. She was out there, all this time, but without her powers – he considers this new information as he towels his chest and arms. Hanoi. Buenos Aires. Really? He really had been off the scent.

Coulson puts the pink t-shirt on, noticing it's large enough to fit a man bigger than him. He leaves his shirt and tie on the rim of the bathtub, taking another moment before walking out there and trying to convince Skye to come back to SHIELD. He washes his face while he's at it, feeling more tired than the rushed flight to Hong Kong and the useless delay at the border warrant. He splashes cold water into his face and it does very little to refresh him.

When he comes back from the bathroom Skye has already changed into dry jeans and a black t-shirt with faded letters spelling "Tour of Tijuana", he thinks. One more mystery, he guesses.

She gives him a look over.

"It fits?"

"Thank you," Coulson says, suddenly shy about it, looking down at the t-shirt.

He continues drying his hair, turning his back to Skye, who is still watching him intently, taking this chance to look at her quarters a bit closer.

The light outside has dimmed, whether because of the storm or because it's already quite late in the afternoon– he came here without a plan.

There is something intensely Skye-like about the room, something fleeting in the way everything is pushed against the walls, like she expects to pack up and leave tomorrow. Coulson looks at the little portable record player in the corner of the room, by the humble kitchen appliances. The stack of vinyls. He hadn't noticed when he entered the flat. He missed it. How did he miss it?

"You have a record player," he blurts out, unable to stop himself.

"Oh yeah. Found it in a flea market," Skye tells him, shoving her hands in her pockets. "It reminded me of... it reminds me of you."

Coulson calmly places the towel on the back of a chair and walks up to Skye.

He takes her face in his palms and brings his mouth down to hers. He can taste the sweetness of the egg tarts and the sharpness of the rain. Skye returns the kiss gently, pressing her body against Coulson. The heat from it startles him. When she opens her mouth under his and he slides his tongue in Coulson hears a tiny pained noise he doesn't recognize and it takes him a moment to realize he's the one making it.

Suddenly he remembers Skye's last night at the base. With him. After the dust settled. After she became an orphan again. He had wanted so much for her that night, despite the impossibility of comforting her. He had never wanted something like this, what he's doing right now. Something selfish. Something – _wrong_.

He turns his head, breaking the kiss, ashamed.

"I didn't want this," he says.

Skye makes a hurt face. No, he didn't mean it like that. He wants to explain himself.

"I just wanted to be there for you, take care of you," he says. "I wanted to be your... _family_."

He touches her damp hair with sadness. Skye catches his hand, tangling their fingers together right above her cheek.

"You can be all those things _and_ do this," she says.

And in that moment Coulson doesn't see any reason why not.

He kisses her again, without guilt this time.

He's missed her so much, he doesn't care.

He has no idea if Skye felt this way before walking out or if this is a new desire, but he doesn't care. He only cares about the way her hipbone feels against his hand when he pulls her to him.

Skye twists her fingers into the fabric of the t-shirt and pulls him back with her in reply. Coulson suddenly thinks that he is wearing clothes Skye normally sleeps in and the thought goes directly to his cock, he's ashamed to say. He grabs Skye's hips as they both push back towards the mattress, both ready to fall.

Her skin is somehow still wet when he touches it, but so is his.

Skye wraps her legs around his waist as he kisses her against the mattress. She shoves her boots off and kicks them away with impatience, without even breaking the kiss. He does break it, wanting to taste the rest of her. He buries his face into the hollow of her neck, kissing her throat, he can't get enough.

Skye grabs him gently by the hair until he looks up at her.

He has trouble looking at her in the eye, she's too close, Coulson can feel her breath on his cheek.

"You know, you don't look half bad with the beard," Skye says, and he thinks it's the first time today he sees a genuine smile from her.

He grins, rubbing his palm against the hair, suddenly and insanely happy that Skye is back in his life, her voice, her sense of humor. "I was wondering when you were going to comment on it," he tells her.

She touches his beard, gingerly, like she's intruding, and the smile disappears.

"Did you grow it because...? Is it because of me?" she asks.

Coulson thinks about it. He didn't want to admit it, but yes, it was because of her absence.

"Yeah."

"I bet it tickles," she says.

He doesn't pretend he doesn't know what she means. He drops his hand down her stomach and starts unzipping her jeans. He takes them off, and her underwear, quickly, scooting over the edge of the mattress and lying on his stomach.

He scrapes his chin along the inside of her thigh. Skye shudders. Coulson wraps his hands around her legs, to anchor himself, not her.

Her whole body seems to coil around Coulson's mouth. He's greedy about it, because he's gone without touching somebody like this for such a long time, he rushes into it, wanting to get her off quickly, _needing_ to know how it feels, being close to her when it happens, knowing he was the one to provoke it. In another life he would have been a patient, generous lover with her. Right now he just wants to make her come. He rubs his chin against her clit and listens to her swear out loud.

"Yeah – fuck – it – fuck -- _tickles_ ," she breathes out, rolling her hips hard. "Jesus – Coulson -- _please_."

He digs his fingers into the top of her thigh, making her squirm.

He flattens his tongue against her as Skye comes, still tasting of rain all over her body. He's missed this, feeling another human being so close, being inside such warmth. What it would be like, burying his body deep into her as she is now, hot and wet. His cock throbs painfully at the idea. Skye lets out a surprised laughter as her shoulders shake, like she wasn't expecting him to be this quick and efficient. Coulson presses his beard against her belly, watches her skin as the sensation makes her tremble.

"Clothes, clothes," she mutters, voice still sticky from the orgasm.

She sheds her own quickly and without embarrassment, t-shirt and bra out of the way in the blink of an eye, while Coulson fumbles with his belt.

When was the last time he was naked in front of another person? He wonders, amazed at the idea that he's become a modest man. The last time was for medical reasons. He was not expecting this today or he would have prepared himself, mentally. But then he looks up and Skye is there, looking at him, _wanting_ to look at him and he can't refuse her.

She lies on her back, shamelessly displaying her nakedness, young and bold. Coulson feels lost just looking at her, her dark skin, her round full breasts, the thin lines of scarred tissue on her stomach. He covers her with his body, shivering at the contact, their skin still slightly cold to the touch. Skye runs her hands up and down the muscles of his chest, looking up at him with desire, even if Coulson doesn't quite understand that.

They take their time touching each other, chasing warmth, kissing. For a moment Coulson wishes there was more light to see her, then he decides it's better this way, to hide himself. He runs his hand through her bangs, trying to carve her expression into his memory, even though he knows he will probably regret that decision later. She arches her body, selfish and impatient, into his touch. Coulson thumbs the line between he breasts.

" _Ah_ – That's nice," she says, throaty, surprised, like no one has touched that bit of her in a long time. She slips her arms under his, hugging him around his back, touching the scar behind his heart.

She kisses him like it's a reward, dirty and hungry and shameless. When she bites his bottom lip Coulson whimpers and his cock twitches painfully, pressed against Skye's leg. She must decide it's time to speed things up there and then and breaks the kiss, sliding her mouth up along the curve of his neck.

"First drawer," she whispers against his ear with a pleading voice.

Coulson wonders what kind of life Skye has lead away from SHIELD, how little he knows about these past months, and then he finds the packet of condoms intact and feels a bit guilty at his speculations. 

Skye curls her fingers around his nape while he tears the wrapping, looking at him full of joyful expectation, and Coulson wonders if he can live up to that.

He doesn't even remember the last time he rolled a condom over his dick like this. Audrey was on the pill and Coulson had been an upstanding citizen then, in perfect health, with a woman who considered him her own personal white knight. He hadn't been a living-dead washout and lost ex-company man about to make love to a sad and brave girl half his age on the bare matress of a flat in a Macau backstreet. He loves Skye. Is that even enough after so much death and destruction?

Lost in his thoughts he doesn't notice Skye still waiting for him, and she shakes him out of it by cupping his chin between her thumb and her index. She is giving him an understanding, almost pitying, look.

"Hey," she calls, still not sure she's got his whole attention. "Why don't we trade places?"

They do and she lies him on his back and it's somehow easier, rolling the condom down, in this position.

Skye straddles his hips, stroking his cock a couple of times (and he might just need it, after his moment of panic), twisting her fingers, before lining their bodies together. She rests one hand on his stomach, while she balances herself.

She takes him in slow, trying to get used to the feel of him inside her, and Coulson is grateful because as much as he just wants to thrust up and feel the whole of him into her body he doesn't think he can actually stand it, the shock of feeling Skye around him in one go. So he closes his eyes and holds his breath until she has sunk all the way.

"Okay?" she asks.

Coulson opens his eyes and in the half-darkness he can see her watching him with some worry. He's still holding his breath.

He nods.

She starts to move.

Everything seems to slip out of his grasp from then on, quickly, like trying to catch water, Skye over him, riding him, still-damp hair sticking to her hot skin. He keeps wondering if what he is doing is wrong. If she'll hate him for it. If he'll hate himself. But he's tired of regrets. Real or future or imagined regrets. He finds himself memorizing the scars on her stomach with his fingertips. He finds himself reaching his hand where their bodies meet, with curiosity, Skye tumbling into another orgasm around his fingers and his cock. He finds himself coming without meaning to, thinking about rain and egg tarts and invisible earthquakes.

 

 

**5\. the night**

A commotion outside wakes him up.

For a moment he's completely disoriented, not just by waking up somewhere strange and unfamiliar, but by waking up _next to someone_. He can't remember the last time that happened either, but this time he feels less inclined to self pity, because Skye's legs wrapped around his are all soft skin and warmth so complaining feels like a sin right now. His defenses are down, from sleep, that's why.

Coulson shifts on the bed and for the first time since he fell into it he notices it's an awful matress, uncomfortable and probably broken, and wonders how Skye can sleep here and his back aches a bit in all the expected places and he remembers putting everything he had in his thrusts some hours ago, fucking her, and then he wonders if maybe he's just too old in general.

"Stop moving," Skye _complains_ , her usually low voice even lower, throwing a warm arm across his abdomen to keep him still. She doesn't sound the least disoriented about waking up next him. Coulson guesses that's a good thing that will probably get them into trouble.

"There's a lot of noise," he says.

"There's a gambling parlor next door," she explains. "I think it's not exactly legal. You get used to it."

"You've had time to get used to it?"

"I'm quick at that," she says, pressing a smile to his shoulder.

"Yes," he mutters, because that makes sense. He feels a pang of guilt – it was SHIELD that made her a nomad again, where it once had been a promise that she could settle down. "Are you also quick at – _not_ being used to a place? Breaking the habit?"

He's not sure what he's asking, glad for the discretion of darkness. He might be asking if she's missed them, if she's missed him. He might be asking if she can leave this place behind, come back with him.

Skye doesn't exactly answer his question. Instead she brushes her hand down Coulson's ribcage, caressing the outline of his hip. His skin still feels raw from sex when she touches him.

"I was hoping you'd come and get me, you know," Skye says. "When I sent the girl to you. I was hoping it would be just you."

"You wanted to be found," he realizes. Not just by SHIELD. By him.

"Yeah."

Coulson wonders if she had imagined this would happen, even expected it somehow. No, that can't be it. Someone like Skye... she couldn't have been waiting for someone like him.

He feels her move closer, in the darkness, her body curling around his. That warmth is incomprehensible to him. He's just making things more complicated for both of them – for _everybody_ really – but god help him he presses back against her body, feeling almost happy to do so.

"You know, I haven't cried since that night with you," she says in a quiet matter-of-factly voice.

He reaches back and touches her face, in case – but no, it's dry. 

Coulson thinks about that night. The hand he played in her grief – having to put Cal down himself. He had no choice, but he also knows that contributed to tearing Skye apart. Suddenly he thinks about his own father, watching him die like Skye watched both her parents die.

"You know, I'm still an orphan, too," he tells her, suspecting Skye always needs companionship more than comfort.

"Yeah, and you are here," she replies, drawing her hand across his chest.

He turns and drops his head and kisses her gently. He wants to do more, kiss her for a long time, in case he can't do it anymore when morning comes, but he tries not to let Skye notice that fear.

"Go back to sleep," he tells her.

"Yeah, _I will_ , once you manage to stop tossing and turning like a child," she says, mocking him.

Her voice and her sense of humor.

Almost four months. _How did I ever survive?_ Coulson thinks as he closes his eyes and ignores the noise of two men quarrelling in Cantonese outside.

 

 

**the mercy morning**

A baby crying next door wakes him up in the morning.

Coulson hopes it's not the same next door as the gambling parlor. That's kind of a too-sensible thought for how gloriously sleepy he feels. No, no, he thinks to himself, he doesn't want to get to rational thought just yet. He wants to stay here in this limbo of sensations, feeling his body sore all over but in a good, unfamiliar way.

When he opens his eyes the room is full of sweet light and he's alone in the bed.

"People in this neighborhood tend to wake up late but you're just being lazy now," he hears Skye say.

She's up, messing around the kitchenette, studying him from over her shoulder. Coulson smells milk boiling.

"It's nice here," he says, stretching across the matress.

He feels better this morning, much better – last night had been a kind of sad affair, feeling inadequate all the way through and trying to hide it – and Skye is smiling at him. He doesn't feel old and he doesn't feel guilty. He seems to have shed those during the night, like dry skin, and now he's left with only the good bits of it.

He turns on his stomach and pushes his face into the pillow, moaning. The pillow smells like Skye. There's a square of sunlight playing on his upper arm. Coulson moves so the heat comes to rest on his left shoulder. He stays like that for a moment and he thinks he might be asleep for a minute or so. He turns around again, propping his head on the pillow to take a good look at the woman in the room with him.

He watches on as Skye prepares some instant coffee.

He watches her in this semi-domestic environment. It makes Coulson ache with longing.

"Smells good," he comments.

"Good coffee around here," she says, walking back to the bed with two cups. "Even instant."

He sits up, staring in delighted disbelief at the tiny scratches all over his stomach and his hips, where Skye scraped her nails all over as she rode Coulson last night. He feels his whole body flush, heat up, at the memory.

"Sorry I don't have any breakfast for you," she tells him, handing him the coffee. "I normally eat out. My diet is pretty bad, you'd be appalled."

"Lots of Pasteis de Nata?"

"They have this thing that it's like a hot dog but inside of an almond croissant, it's so digusting. I eat them every day," Skye says, gleefully sipping from her mug,

Coulson notices she's wearing the pink t-shirt, the one she gave him to wear a few hours ago. And presumably little else, barefoot and hair longer than Coulson remembers falling on her shoulders. She scoots over, pressing her cold feet against Coulson's bare legs, and throwing the bed covers back over their bodies. Coulson feels a sharp pang of complete and unearned happiness, suddenly being here in this bed having coffee with Skye.

And she is looking at him with curiosity

"At least the weather cleared up," he comments.

"Yeah. I guess we were just unlucky, yesterday," she says. Then, biting her lower lip, she shrugs. "Or _lucky_ , I don't know."

Coulson just smiles at her, not sure if he should committ to an answer. 

Skye looks at her cell phone a moment, checking the time.

"I have to be in front of the Grand Lisboa at noon, to drop off a flash drive," she says.

"Okay."

"Then what's the plan?"

He doesn't have any.

She was the plan.

"I've missed you so much," he says, knowing that's not an answer, being honest for one damned moment, without thinking of the consequences or how it might hurt his case. "This gaping hole in my day, in my life. I don't know how I was able to stand it. I'm not sure I did."

Skye lifts her hand and strokes his face, his chin, the ridiculous beard he needs to get rid of as soon as they get back home. Home. Does Skye even want to go back home with him? Does she still think of it as _home_? 

"That's not a plan."

"No? We could stay here," he teases, trying to be charming. He hasn't _tried_ to be charming in centuries, he feels. It normally comes effortlessly to him. But right now he's too lost and too in love and Skye is worth all that effort. "You could play baccarat while I sample the local pastries. It'll be a good, simple life."

Skye lets out a chuckle against his shoulder, where she sucks a hard kiss on the spot. Coulson sighs at it.

"What about the Inhumans?" he asks, seriously.

He feels her stiffen at the mention, avert her eyes.

"What about that?"

"You've been helping them hide and survive all these months," Coulson says. "But they are scattered, I'm sure they are still affected by what happened in Afterlife."

"Well, we all are."

He can't argue with that. Him being here, naked in Skye's bed, is proof of it.

"Your people are going to need someone to take care of them," he tells Skye, wondering if he is overstepping some boundary here. "Someone who can guide them."

"I'm not like my mother," Skye says, gritting her teeth.

"No, but you are a leader. They don't need another Jiaying, they need _you_."

She looks down, drawing her knees against her chest.

"I wouldn't know where to start," she tells him, reaching her hands out. "I can't even use my powers right now."

"Maybe we can help with that."

She looks up.

"At SHIELD?"

"Yeah."

He sees emotion rise in Skye's expression.

"Does that mean...? Can I come _home_?"

Coulson frowns at the question. "Of course."

She touches his mouth, like somehow she can't believe what he just said, like she wants to trace his words and she can barely believe he's here. She wraps her arms around his abdomen, ducking so that her head fits under Coulson's chin. Sort of a hug, sort of a escape route. When she pulls back her face is a bit flushed, like she's ashamed. She rests her hands on his chest.

"You said you didn't know what your place in SHIELD was anymore," she reminds him.

Coulson touches the back of her hand, clutches her fingers.

"I'm sure I'll figure it out if you are there with me," he tells her, which might be a bit unfair but god, it's so true.

Skye seems to agree with the plan, but he can feel her doubts.

"Okay but... What about us?" she says. "Can we do our job and still do this? Because after last night, I don't want to pretend we're just really good friends."

"Me neither," he agrees. He notices her chest rising with relief. Did she really think he wanted a one-night stand and then for things to go back to how they were before? Well, he told Skye last night that he hadn't wanted this to happen. Maybe he shouldn't be so surprised at her lack of certainty about his feelings.

She nods to herself, like she's made a decision.

"I'm gonna be late," she says, getting out of bed.

She changes her clothes in front of him. Coulson is amazed by that. He has this flash of having been together years, not just one night. 

While she disappears into the bathroom for a moment he moves to the edge of the mattress, trying to cross his legs (he's not that flexible), waiting for her and whatever decision she has made. It's Skye, so it's probably the right decision, anyway.

She comes out combing her hair and giving Coulson a shy smile. 

"Can you reach–?" she gestures to her boots.

Coulson stretches to pick them up, remembering the unceremonious way in which Skye had kicked them off last night, as she pulled Coulson down onto the bed with her. Does she really have to go to her appointment? Can't she stay here? They could...

Skye sits on the broken mattress by his side, putting on her socks, then her boots, finishing up. She looks around the room.

"Why don't you pack my things while I finish work and we'll go to the airport together?" she tells him.

"You can do that?" Coulson asks. "Leave all this just like that?"

Skye gives him an intrigued look, tilting her head. Yes, Coulson doesn't know either, what the hell is wrong with him, why he is suddenly trying to find obstacles to what had been originally his wish. Skye ignores him, mostly. Might be a good tactic from now on.

"This was never meant to be permanent," she explains, gesturing. "I was just waiting."

"Waiting for?"

She brings her hand to Coulson's cheek, brushing her palm against his beard again, feeling the scratch of it. She kisses the corner of his mouth. No further explanation.

"Don't forget the record player," she tells him.

Coulson smiles. 

He won't forget.


End file.
